Perpetual Enchantment
by Josi Hamilton
Summary: Connie and Michael after the divorce...


Characters belong to the BBC, Lyrics taken from Steve Brookstein's Against All Odds.

Perpetual Enchantment:

Six o'clock at London Liverpool Street Station, and the whole world wanted to pass through there that. Hundreds of people stared up at the departures board in reverence, as though it was a God. She stood there, watching the world walk past, the blank stares of passers by washing over her as she waited for the time that the train would come to take her back to Holby.

Anyone who hadn't seen her for a year or so would not recognise her now; her long dark curls were pulled back into a scruffy ponytail and her tired face, unmade-up and pale, was obscured by the spectacles she had eschewed her contact lenses for earlier in the afternoon. Her beige overcoat was pulled tightly around her and she clutched a cup of steaming coffee in her hand…she hadn't slept properly for months and it was taking its toll on her.

The truth was, a year ago her life had begun to slowly unravel, until it had completely fallen to pieces. Her perfect life had spiralled out of control, taking a rapid plunge off of a very steep cliff. And she'd ended up broken and alone. Even Connie couldn't remain cold and indifferent forever. Everybody has a breaking point, and she had well and truly reached hers and then carried on going.

The affairs…the lies…the deceit…the love…the magic…the baby…the funeral...his tears…her tears…those three words which chilled her to her very bones. "I'm leaving you." The empty house…the empty cot…the empty life…the empty head…the empty heart. Work…the only thing left. The only constant.

The clock flicked over to twenty past six and Connie pushed her way through the crowds and onto platform eight, watching as her train drew to a halt in front of her. As the doors slid open she walked slowly into the first class carriage, sinking down into her seat, grateful for the fact that she had the money to pay for the comfort of a first class seat. She leaned back, twisting her head so she could look out of the window, watching the men and women in their black suits and ties as they bustled about the platform, jostling for a seat on the next train home.

As the engine started, Connie closed her eyes, hoping for sleep to come. She felt someone sit down in the seat next to her, heard the rustling of a newspaper opening. She took a deep breath, recognising the woody scent of the cologne the man beside her was wearing. Opening her eyes she sat up in her seat, turning to look at him. Catching sight of his face as he turned the page of The Independent, her heart jumped into her throat. "Michael?" She whispered hoarsely. And as he turned to look at her, the world stopped dead and all she could see was him.

Michael lowered his paper, gazing at his ex wife in surprise. It had been a year since he'd last seen her, and she'd changed. She was not immaculate anymore…she looked tired, she looked depressed. She looked everything he didn't want her to feel and it broke his heart. "Connie?" He queried, not quite believing it was the same woman sat beside him as the one who had thrown an antique vase at him as he'd left their home for the last time.

Connie nodded and looked away, running her fingers over her hair. Michael continued to stare, unable to believe the change in her, wondering if it was his doing. He eventually found his voice again. "How are you?"

Connie turned to face him again, looking up uncomfortably into his eyes. "You know…alive." She stated, numbly. "You?"

'Missing you.' He thought, still unable to draw his eyes away from her face. "Yeah…I'm fine."

They sat there in silence for a while, just looking at each other, each unable to speak, unable to break the uncomfortable silence that was growing between them. Eventually Michael reached out to her, unable to hold back any longer, he took her into his arms, wrapping them tightly around her, trying to give her the protection she looked like she so desperately needed. She leant her head on his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him, closing her eyes, remembering for a moment how it used to be. "It's been a long time." She whispered, softly.

"Yeah." Michael replied, guilt washing over him like a wave in a storm as the realisation hit him that he had broken her completely. "Too long."

_Connie walked down the stairs, wrapping her dressing gown tightly around her. It was the middle of the afternoon but she had only just woken up; the trauma of the last couple of weeks had taken its toll. Padding across the carpeted hallway and into the kitchen, she flicked on the kettle._

"_Connie!" She heard Michael call her from the next room, and wondering why he was at home at this time of day, she went to find him. Walking into the living room she found him, sat on the sofa, suited and booted, with a coat laid across the seat beside him and two suitcases on the floor by his feet._

"_Going somewhere?" Connie asked, running her fingers through her short curly hair. She didn't want to be alone right now; she still didn't feel quite right after everything that had happened. And even though she would never admit it, she needed him._

_Michael looked up at her nervously, a tight knot forming in his stomach. "Erm…no. Well yes. I am." He said, shakily, his eyes not quite meeting hers._

"_Either you are or you aren't Michael." Connie smiled, bemused by his indecisiveness. _

"_I am." Michael spoke with more confidence this time. "Connie…I…uh…I'm leaving you." The smile dropped from Connie's lips as though there were a lead weight dragging it down. She stared at him for a moment, searching his face for a sign that maybe he was joking. But there wasn't one. _

"_What?" Connie asked, quietly, a tight feeing spreading across her chest. Michael glanced at her guiltily, before repeating the words he had just said, this time more firmly._

"_I'm leaving you."_

"_But…why?" Connie stared at Michael, unable to believe that this was happening. _

"_I can't do it anymore…it's too hard." Michael spoke quietly, staring at the floor. Connie was shaking her head in disbelief, an anger rising within her as she crossed the room to stand in front of him. "Too hard?" She questioned him, heatedly. "Too hard! What is 'too hard' exactly?"_

"_All of this!" Michael replied, standing up to face her. "I can't keep playing this game with you anymore!"_

"_What is this? Do you not love me anymore? Is that it? What's changed?" Connie fired questions at him; unable to comprehend the fact that her marriage was falling apart right in front of her and there was nothing she could say to stop it._

"_You've changed!" Michael's voice rose to meet the level of hers. "I love you, of course I do, and you know that!"_

"_Oh do I? Then why are you leaving?" Connie yelled, exasperated._

"_I'm leaving because it's not enough anymore!" Michael yelled back, running his fingers through his hair. _

"_Not enough?" Connie's voice dropped slightly as she struggled to understand what he was telling her. "What do you mean not enough?"_

"_I don't know you anymore Connie." Michael told her, lowering his voice. "And then when…last week…"_

_Connie shook her head and looked away, a lump forming in her throat. "That's not my fault!" She said, choked. "You know that was not my fault! Yow can you punish me for that?"_

"_I'm not!" Michael put his hand on her cheek, turning her head to face him. "But that was the final blow in a very long line of them! I can't deal with this anymore."_

"_Deal with what?" Connie spat, disgusted. "Me?"_

"_Not you! This! Us!" Michael sighed, realising that he was never going to be able to make her understand._

"_Us? That's not an explanation Michael!" Connie replied, becoming increasingly infuriated at the fact that he wouldn't explain why he was going. _

"_It is." Michael spoke calmly, slowly, trying to get his point across to her. "It was going wrong before…I thought we could fix it but we can't Connie. Love isn't enough. I need someone who can give me more than that!"_

_His words fuelled a fresh burst of rage within Connie as she thought she finally understood. "Is that what this is about?" She spoke dangerously quietly, glaring at him with an intensity that he had never encountered before. "Another woman?"_

"_No!" Michael was quick to correct her. "There is no other woman. There never has been anyone else for me! That's part of the problem! You have never loved me in the same way I've loved you Connie! You never completely gave yourself to me did you? And lately it's just become to difficult…"_

"_Difficult!" Connie interrupted, jumping down his throat. "You're leaving because I'm difficult?"_

"_No!" Michael shouted back, bending to lift his suitcases. "You're never going to understand me Connie. I'm sorry." He pushed past her, heading out into the hall. She followed, too angry now to try and convince him to stay. As she watched him walk out of the front door, she felt a final surge of anger rise within her, and stormed over to the door, picking up an old red antique vase as she did. _

"_I fucking hate you Michael Beauchamp. You're the biggest mistake of my life!" She yelled, lobbing the vase at him through the open door, watching as it hit his back and smashed into a thousand pieces before falling like bullets onto the rain drenched driveway._

_He didn't look back. The tears had begun to roll down his cheeks before he had even reached the living room door. As he slammed the car door shut, he leant forwards, resting his head on the steering wheel, trying desperately to collect himself. He'd always love her. But love alone could never be enough._

_Connie slammed the door, the silence of the house hitting her like a freight train as she sank to the floor, leaning against the heavy wooden door. She drew her knees up to her chest, tears flowing down her cheeks as she began to cry, her body shaking violently with big uncontrollable sobs as she realised it was all gone. It was all gone and there was nothing left. _

Across seats thirty-four and thirty-five of the 6pm London to Holby train that evening, Connie and Michael Beauchamp were locked in an embrace. The world was flying past the window at high speed, and people passed them as they got on and off the train. But Connie and Michael remained still, but for the way that Michael was softly playing with her hair between his fingers, and the way that Connie was gently stroking his chest. They each had their eyes closed, and his chin was rested on top of her head. She was leaning her head against his chest, her left cheek pressed against the silk of his tie. One of her hands was beside her face, pressed against his chest, her fingers gently chafing the cotton of his shirt, running over the familiar contours of his body beneath it. Her other arm was around his waist, gently holding him to her, he palm of her hand pressed flat on the small of his back. His arms were wrapped tightly around her, enveloping her, holding her against his chest as though he couldn't quite hold her tight enough. One of his arms was bent, his hand at the base of her neck, his fingers fiddling with the soft curls that had come loose from her ponytail. His other hand was draped across her right hip, her leg across his. They remained still like this for a long while, encased in their own little world, feeling nothing but each other, hearing nothing but each other's soft breathing, smelling nothing but the other's familiar and comforting smell. Each remembering the day that had broken them completely.

_"How's my girl?" Michael walked into the kitchen, where Connie was cooking dinner. He grinned at her, walking up behind her at the stove, wrapping his arms around her swollen waist, gently nuzzling her neck. Connie placed the lid on the saucepan, before turning in his arms, her hands rubbing his chest. He leant down and kissed her tenderly, pulling him closer to her. Eventually they parted, his hands lingering on her heavily pregnant belly, running over her firm bump, smiling at the sensation of the tiny babies feet pressing into his hand as the baby kicked. Connie watched the smile spread across his face and she smiled too, as he knelt to kiss her stomach. Playfully smacking him across his shoulder she told him to get up and stop being such a soppy git. Dinner was ready. _

Snuggled up on the sofa after dinner, a film on, Michael with his hand resting on Connie's stomach once more. An hour in, and Connie suddenly sat bolt upright. Michael had felt the muscles in her abdomen move, watched the frown appear on Connie's face, followed closely by a wince of pain as her hand flew to her stomach, gripping it lightly. "You alright?" He queried, and she shook her head slightly.

"I think it's time." She whispered, looking at him with a frightened innocence that he hadn't seen in her eyes for years. He nodded, grinning apprehensively as he gently embraced her, before pulling away, his hands gently gripping her upper arms as he looked into her eyes.

"It's going to be fine. I'll go and get your overnight bag and your coat…you stay here." She nodded and looked down, at her swollen belly, rubbing her hand across it as he rushed off.

In the car, Connie gripped the armrest as Michael drove at breakneck speed towards the hospital. Every now and again she would lean her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes and wincing as another contraction began. Upon their arrival, Michael helped her from the car, tossing the keys at a nearby registrar, instructing him to park it and bring the bag into Maternity. Carefully he led her into the Maternity Wing where she was immediately settled into a wheelchair and shown into the delivery room.

Labour progressed, and Michael remained by Connie's side throughout, gently rubbing her lower back, holding her hand, whispering soothing reassurances into her ears. Periodically Owen would enter the room to check her over, tell her how her labour was going, how long he thought it would be. For five long hours Connie laid in that bed, frightened of the moment arriving that was going to change her life, gripping her husband's hand with all her might as contraction after contraction overtook her body, mother and baby beginning the struggle to become separate. Eventually the moment came, when Owen's deep Liverpudlian voice spoke the words that she had been dying to hear.

"Okay Connie…you can push on your next contraction."

And when the next one came, the world closed in and all she could see were blurred silhouettes of the faces around her bed as they moved to deliver her baby, all she could hear was the encouraging words which Michael was speaking into her ear, all she could feel was the deep searing pain coming from deep within her womb as she yelled out, struggling to let the baby free, but feeling as though nothing was happening fast, time slowing down to a matrix-like pace.

Sudden movements around the bed as Owen began shouting rapid instructions to the maternity team. Michael stood up, and Connie felt her heart jump into her throat as fractions of what he was saying reached her ears and she realised what he was happening. "The cord is wrapped around the baby's neck…got to move it… or the baby won't make it." She could feel hands on her, in her, twisting, shifting, unravelling the noose from the baby's neck. Cold metal of the forceps sliding inside, speeding things up, as Connie laid backwards, her face contorted with pain. Finally it was over, shot through with feelings of joy and relief, and Owen cut the cord, passing the baby across to the paediatrician as he informed Connie and Michael of thier newborn daughter. Then silence.

Panic. Sheer panic coursed though Connie's veins and she sat bolt upright, her eyes searching the room for her baby. "Why isn't she crying?" She demanded, not even noticing the passing of the placenta as she stared in horror at the paediatrician, who was desperately trying to revive the baby. "Why isn't she crying? Somebody tell me why!" Connie yelled, staring round at the faces of her colleagues in the room, finding that not one of them could look at her as the paediatrician slowly shook her head. She turned to Owen, who looked back at her sadly, the deepest sympathy radiating from his eyes as the memory of a feeling he had felt twice before came back to him, and a whispered apology escaped from his lips. She turned then to Michael, noticing his eyes filling with tears as he shook his head at her in despair, one hand held up to his face, his fingertips rubbing his forehead in distress. Reality came like a freight train, hitting her hard and knocking the very breath from her. "No." she whispered, a loud sob escaping her lips. "No!" A tight knot formed in her throat and a heavy weight settled in the pit of her stomach as she started to cry, a desperate grief overtaking her. Owen lifted the baby from the cot, and handed her to Connie, whispering his sympathy once more before making his silent exit the room.

Michael crossed the room and sat down on the end of the bed, tears rolling down his cheeks. He covered his mouth with his palm, stifling his own sorrow as he watched Connie crying softly, in her arms cradling the lifeless body of their beautiful baby girl.

_-----_

_So take a look at me now, there's just an empty space. And there's nothing left here to remind me, just the memory of your face. Well take a look at me now, there's just an empty space. And you coming back to me is against all odds, and that's what I've gotta face. And you're the only one who really knew me at all._

When the announcement came for Holby City Station, Connie and Michael finally parted. His hands lingered around her waist as he took a long look at her; still unable to believe how much she had changed. She smiled at him a little, and he smiled back, running his hands down her arms to meet hers, squeezing them gently before letting go. "Maybe you could come back for a coffee." Connie whispered, and Michael nodded. As the train came to a halt, they departed it together.

They arrived back at the house about half an hour later. As he stepped through the door, Michael looked around in reverence, a million memories flooding back into his mind…the only difference in the house since he had left it was the old red antique vase, missing from the table by the door. He watched Connie kick her shoes off, pushing them under the table along with her handbag, before hanging her coat on the wooden coat stand that stood in the corner. Just like she always did. He followed her into the kitchen, where she was stood making coffee.

"Black, two sugars?" Connie asked, slowly, waiting for the coffee machine to do its business. She had dreamed of the moment for so long when she would finally have him alone again, finally have the chance to tell him how she felt. In all those dreams, she had never felt as nervous as she did while she was standing there, studiously watching the coffee machine, desperately trying to stop her hands from shaking.

"Please." Michael replied, as she poured the coffee into two big mugs. She stirred in his sugar and crossed the kitchen to hand it to him. He took a sip, and nodded his appreciation at her. She looked up at him, placing her own mug on the kitchen counter.

"Michael…I…there's been noone else." Connie frowned a little, trying to tell him that she missed him, trying to tell him that she still loved him, but not really sure how to get the words out now that the moment had come. Michael nodded, rubbing her arm with his free hand.

"Me either." He replied, quietly, understanding exactly what she meant. His hand remained on her arm for a moment longer than was necessary, and he smiled at her, a soft smile that sent shivers down her spine.

"I uh…I still…" Connie was interrupted by Michael's finger, softly pressing into her lips, silencing her. He put his mug down on the counter beside hers, before pulling her close to him. Sliding his finger away from her lips, he gazed at her for a moment. Then he kissed her, long and lingering and so tenderly, so lovingly, that every good feeling Connie had ever felt was rushing though her body at a million miles an hour. The kiss seemed to last forever, neither of them wanting it to end. When they finally did part, they both looked unsure as to where they should go from there, each knowing where they wanted to end up but neither sure whether or not it was what the other wanted. They gazed at each other, before moving in to kiss again, much more passionately this time, moving slowly across the kitchen and up the stairs as they did.

As they reached the bedroom, Connie could feel Michael's hands gently tugging on her top, lifting it over her head. His hands were then on her waist, gently chafing back and forth across her bare skin. Connie had forgotten how good it felt to be touched, having known noone since Michael had left her, and she shivered slightly, smiling at the way her skin was tingling where his hands had been. She began to unbutton his shirt, pushing it away from his shoulders, pulling his bare chest tight against her own as they collapsed backwards onto the bed. Trousers were shed, then underwear, everything, until both of them were naked, writhing together on the bed, skin on skin, hands wandering, exploring the familiar, touching every inch of each other. His lips moved away from hers to the curve of her neck, soft butterfly kisses making her skin tingle. His fingertips roamed her torso, brushing across her lower belly until she was arching her back like a cat, before moving lower, parting her thighs with one deft movement, gently trailing his fingers from the knee upwards, causing her to pant with the anticipation of what was to come. He trailed his kisses further down, covering her breasts and stomach, savouring every last inch of her soft skin, making it feel loved again, before moving down lower still, between her legs, causing all the nerve endings in her body to jangle wildly. He began to flick his tongue deftly across her clitoris, holding her hips still as she began to writhe between his soft lips. He alternated his movements between gentle nibbles, quick flicks and generous sweeps, and periodically she would gasp loudly, her breath quickening as his actions began to build speed. As he thrust his tongue inside her it felt like all her demons were finally being exorcised, and she let out a low and languorous moan as wave after wave of pleasure overtook her as she headed towards the heady heights of climax. When she did come, clawing at the bed sheets and screaming with the pure ecstasy of what she was feeling, her body trembling wildly, she felt a few tears escaping her eyes, as the forgotten sensation of what it was like to feel this good finally returned to her.

Slowly Michael crawled up her body, and gently kissed away the tears that were slipping down her face. "You okay?" He whispered, and she nodded.

"Perfect." He kissed her again, and she kissed him back, urgently, her hips now pressing into his. The feeling of Connie's still perfectly toned thigh pressing into him was enough to excite Michael, who had dreamt of nothing more for a long time. Softly smiling into the kiss Connie rolled him over, so that he was laying on his back, before kneeling over him, one leg on either side of his hips. He took her hands as she lowered herself onto him, unable to draw her eyes away from his. He smiled at her softly as she began to rock her hips, his hands moving to her waist, hers gripping his arms. They moved together, and the pleasure built between them, spreading like electricity from their hips. When they climaxed, together, it was explosive, a bone meltingly, ecstatically magnificent feeling that they both cried out in unison. She collapsed down onto the bed beside him, the way her body trembled equalled only by the trembling of his, both of them with their eyes closed tightly, breathing deeply, bodies twitching with the aftershocks of what they had just done.

Connie rolled over into Michael's open arms, and rested her head on his chest. She felt his arms close around her, holding her close to him, the fingers of one of his hands gently stroking her hair. She closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat as it got back to a regular tempo. Feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he sighed quietly, she lifted her head to look at him. He looked back at her, his eyes watery with tears.

" Michael?" Connie spoke his name as a question, quietly. He reached up and touched her face, gently pushing her hair behind her ear.

"You know I'm not good at all this…yunno, taking about your feelings stuff Conn…neither of us ever were. But I think you need to know that leaving you was the worst mistake I ever made. Even after all this time I…I can't stop thinking about you, I've missed you so much Conn, I've been so miserable…I need you, I still love you and I'm so, so sorry."

There were tears rolling down Michael's cheeks by this time, and gently Connie brushed them away with the tips of her fingers. She could feel herself filling up, and she bit her lip as her chin began to quiver. "I think we need to start talking a little bit more." She said, quietly, her voice choked. She sat up, roughly brushing her hair away from her eyes, staring at the pattern on the duvet.

"Oh Conn…" Michael whispered, as he sat up beside her. "What happened to us?"

Connie turned to look at him, a lost expression on her face. She shook her head, unable to come up with an answer, as the tears finally spilled over. "When you…when you left, it completely destroyed me Michael." She told him, her voice broken by a gentle sob.

"I'm so sorry Connie…I honestly don't know what I was thinking…I'm so sorry." Michael stammered, unable to justify himself to her. He knew he had been an idiot. He watched as Connie bit her lip and looked down at the duvet once more, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Maybe you could stay more than just tonight…" she whispered. "…If you want."

Michael reached out and turned her face so that she could look at him. He smiled at her softly through his tears, whilst wiping hers away with his thumb. "I'm never…" He began to speak, but stopped, finding himself choked up. He took a deep breath and started again. "I'm never going to leave your side again. I love you."

"I love you too." Connie whispered, her voice shaking. She allowed him to pull her into his arms, feeling them wrapped tighter around her than they ever had been before. She clung to him too, never wanting the moment to end. Leaning down, he kissed her, soft and long and tender. She closed her eyes, kissing him back, feeling herself completely melt. And as they kissed, they both knew that this was finally it. This was the one who really would hold their attention forever. This was love. Perpetual enchantment. And they both knew that it was going to be okay.


End file.
